***Trigger Warning - physical/emotional abuse and violence described below***
What you are about to read below was written by me in 2016 and was read to an audience at an event called Reclaim Your Voice, in Toronto, focused on giving victims and survivors a voice after trauma. You can watch this here: Watch the video.
My name is Natasha Helwig, most people call me Tash…
I wasn’t sure how to approach writing this…
I believe so highly in transparency, but there are always those rare times that I get hit with a wave of nausea just thinking about opening up.
I learned recently that my love language is Words of Affirmation – which means I give and receive love through words – I love to compliment people and tell them how much I love them – but what this means on the receiving end is that if you do not choose your words wisely when spoken to me, I will latch onto them, hold them closely to my heart, and no matter the level of toxicity I will believe these words with every fibre of my being.
Sticking to the theme of today, The Power of Words, I decided to share excerpts from my life where the words that were said during that time really stuck with me, and shaped who I’ve been as a woman, more specifically as a lover and partner in a relationship.
Although negative, I realize the power and control that these words have had over me, and I’ve been working my most diligently to try to break free from the hold that these words have created over my strength, my love and my womanhood.
When I was 20 I dated a boy for 8 months. An older boy. A charismatic boy. A boy that could smile the panties off a nun and whisper sweet nonsense in your ear that would have any one of us in this room swoon.
A boy that I only briefly liked because everything within me said I shouldn’t trust him…
but
I never followed logic and always chose emotion and believed that he probably did love me because “shoot he said it after 2 weeks of knowing me and he IS older so he must know what he wants.”
So when he looked me straight in the eye, one Tuesday night in March, while seated in his car and said “Wait until I’m finished with you” with pure hate in his eyes, I knew I had to run.
He had just spent 10 mins punching me in the face and calling me every name in the book.
This was the first time that I had ever been attacked by a partner.
I didn’t understand what was going on. I didn’t understand why he was hitting me. I didn’t understand why he was so angry.
Tears streamed down my face. Blood ran from my nose. I jerked the car door open and ran. I didn’t get very far before I felt my head jerk back as he grabbed my then long hair and dragged me right back to the car.
He wanted to kill me.
“Wait ‘til I’m finished with you” he repeated.
I was too naïve to believe that anyone would really try to take another persons life. I did not believe that I could possess enough power to anger someone so uncontrollably that they felt it was okay to physically hurt me.
It’s been 10 years since this first attack and the memories are still extremely vivid. His words still ring out like an alarm sounding in my head: Wait until I am finished with you.
Why did he do this? Why did he think this was okay? Why won’t he apologize? Did I deserve this?
These questions haunted me, these questions stayed with me, as I continued on into my future relationships.
I decided I would no longer trust a man.
When I was 23, I dated a boy who had been my best friend out of high school. A boy that I thought knew all about me. A boy that knew about my fears and insecurities. A boy I had confided in about the previous relationship and attack and who I felt it would be okay to trust. After all, we had years of friendship under our belt.
Our relationship seemed amazing. One year went by – we were in love. He was my big teddy bear. He stood strong, tall, at 6 feet 8 inches and 250 pounds – he was my protector. He looked me in my eyes and said “I love you. Please trust me. I would never hurt you.”
And then, as we approached our 2nd year, infidelity hit. There were signs that he had been cheating.
I should have left him; after all I HAD decided before him that I would no longer trust any man.
But I WANTED to trust him.
So I stayed.
And we argued.
The arguments always started with me. Who is she? Where did she come from? How does she know about us? Are you telling me the truth? Why should I believe you?
He would try to walk away from me and I would chase him.
If he walked away now, would he come back?
I wasn’t willing to risk it. I was scared to lose him.
But I needed answers to my questions.
And then one day my questions came to a halt.
He lost it. He couldn’t take it anymore.
Before I knew it I was being thrown to the ground.
And He kicked.
Over.
And Over.
And over again.
I tried to run away up a flight of stairs but was quickly dragged back down by my legs as my hands clawed at each step above me, screaming and kicking him away so that I could be let go.
But let go, he wouldn’t.
He said I caused it. I made him see red. I didn’t know how to shut up. I deserved this.
Shouting in my face.
Swearing
Threatening.
And kicking.
I rolled myself up into a tiny ball sobbing as I tried to wish him away. Wish him to stop.
Wished for some peace.
But stop, he would not.
And he kicked.
His sneakers felt like a hammer being hit into my back.
Blow by blow.
Tears streaming down my face until tears couldn’t form anymore.
Then mucus.
Mucus from my nose as I sobbed.
And he kicked.
Then drool.
Drool from my mouth as I couldn’t utter another scream.
And he kicked.
My eyes squeezed tightly shut as I tried to imagine this moment away – tried to wake myself up from this nightmare…
And then the kicking stopped.
My body
Tense from pain,
As he walked away from me and towards his bed, slipped his feet out of his shoes and crawled between the sheets, leaving me lying on the floor.
And then silence.
He slept
While I sobbed
And continued to lay on his floor quietly
…so as not to disturb his peace.
I woke up to him lifting me up off the floor to place me in his bed. He repeatedly apologized. He kissed my back where he had spent hours before kicking. He said he didn’t know what happened. He saw red. My repeated questions made him feel backed into a corner and he just wanted to break free – so he attacked. He asked me to find a different method of communicating with him. Could I consider not asking him any more questions? Could I just not talk about what happened? Maybe write down my thoughts and shoot him a text?
I told myself: You caused this Tasha. You caused him to explode. If only you had just shut up none of this would have happened.
So I shut down. Didn’t speak. Chose my words very carefully. Made sure not to make him feel uncomfortable. Didn’t anger him.
But he had family and personal issues going on in his life, and I slowly but surely became his beating stick.
It wasn’t long before I realized that the abuse was becoming regular, although I still wasn’t ready to call it abuse.
Every month that passed, the attacks got worse. It also wasn’t long before I realized that his anger was coming from a deeper place that had nothing to do with me. I would try to talk to him about what he was doing – I would try to explain to him how he was hurting me. I, again, couldn’t believe that a man that loved me from the age of 16 could be so calculated and violent with me.
And then one day, his “seeing red” must have turned to black, because his fit of rage was from such a place of darkness that I did not recognize him.
The fear that I had experienced in that moment rose up out of my chest and I cried and dropped to my knees and prayed out loud for God to save me.
I still can’t properly speak of his actions that day without feeling that little piece of me die inside a little.
And then it was over.
I decided again that I would no longer trust another man. I could no longer trust a man to protect me. I could only protect myself. And I became angry and controlled.
For the next two years I drank and partied and met another man. He ignited me. He felt like my perfect match. I had developed this new “fake” confidence as I like to call it. I walked around as though nothing hurt me, as though I hadn’t experienced any trauma and that everything was okay.
This new man loved me as best he could. He held my hand through the various phases that I began to experience after the abuse. He watched me mourn. He listened to my experiences in therapy. He watched me grow and change.
But he had his own issues, like all of us have, and his selfishness, ego and desire for other women was larger than our love. His means of communicating became emotionally abusive as he found ways to get out of our relationship so that he could have his fun. And each time, once the fun was over, he would come back and I would let him in.
One day he looked at me and he said “Natasha, you are undesirable.”
I was angry.
I was hurt.
And I believed him.
These words and many other previous statements he had made, coupled with his actions, were the only things that made sense.
These words stung deeper than any punch I could have taken.
And I continued to let him in.
I broke and bent pieces of me to fit his mold. To fit what I thought he would desire. To fit what he said he needed from me intimately and sexually. I became uncomfortable. I no longer felt like an adequate partner, a fulfilling lover.
And I took this statement “I am undesirable” and attached it to all the broken relationships that I had.
There was something undesirable about me that caused a boy to violently attack me at 20 years old. There was something undesirable about me that caused my best friend to physically abuse me for months before the relationship was over. There was something undesirable about me that caused this new man, who seemed perfect in my eyes, to not want me sexually and to break me down emotionally – bit by bit, word by word, action by action.
Those words were said to me in December 2013. They still sting. I still say them at times to myself. I haven’t fully let it go.
But the difference with me now versus then, is that I am aware. I am aware of my emotions. I am aware of the poor coping habits I had, I am aware that I began new relationships bringing in old habits and not properly working on myself beforehand, I am aware of the fact that the way others have treated me and the things they have said to me is a reflection of themselves, their hurt, their pain, and their own personal issues, I am aware that I have attracted broken men into my life at times that I too was broken, and now I am aware of what I deserve and I am focused on healing.
I share my story because I know that it is one that many women have experienced. I share my story because I find strength in reading these words and embracing where I’ve come from. I share my story because my one thing in life is to realize my worth and love myself and I have made it my purpose to motivate and help other women do the same.
The words people tell us, the situations we’ve experienced, and the thoughts we develop in our minds about ourselves, whether negative or positive, lead the direction our lives take.
It’s our duty to ourselves to transform these thoughts. It’s our duty to ourselves to feed ourselves with positive words, with positive actions, and to show major, undying love to ourselves, no matter what others think of us and no matter how others treat us.
I come first. I set the standard.
I am not undesirable.
I am growing. I am beautiful. I am resilient.
So are you.
Thank you.